


Close To You

by shellebelle



Series: Simplest Shipping Grid Ever [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/M, Lots of it, just really cute okay, okay, simplest shipping grid ever, there's lots of kissing later, tw: grimdark, tw: horrorterrors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-25
Updated: 2012-11-25
Packaged: 2017-11-19 11:32:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/572805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shellebelle/pseuds/shellebelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rose remembers being grimdark. Rose remembers a little too well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Close To You

==>Be Rose Lalonde

You are Rose Lalonde, and you are quite certain that something is wrong. 

It has been only a few months since the game ended, and you are seventeen years old, in your senior year of high school. Despite you and your friends' lack of custodians, you have managed to secure emancipated status, a house that the four of you can live in (though you all still talk on Pesterchum from time to time, through force of habit), and enough money to ensure that you can live comfortably on your own for some time. Of course, the four of you had to work quickly, before the “authorities” decided that you were too immature to live on your own. There were certain documents you had to forge, and certain things you needed to do in order to get the house and register for school. You all had worked round the clock sometimes, to get things ready. 

(Thank you, Game from Hell.)

But those things aren't the only things the Game left you. It has also left you the memory of the horrorterrors, the memory of their whisper-dry voices like the sound of dead, dry leaves in your head. Sometimes, you even think you can hear them just behind you, in your ears, soft, soft, _soft_ , festertongues in your ear, coiling around your brain stem, turning your skin burn-ash-gray and your eyes into black, tarry pools. 

Sometimes, you think you see your breath, even though it is not yet even mid-September and still quite warm, though you shiver with cold more often than not.

You tell no one of this. You can handle this on your own. 

Other things are happening too. For one thing, you are noticing John Egbert, which is ludicrous and stupid. Ludicrous because he is simply too _nice_ , stupid because you've _always_ noticed him. Always. 

Just...not like this. 

It isn't that he's oh-so-handsome, which, really, he isn't. He's fairly average, you think. Average height, average build, and black hair that, no matter how long he spends on it, still manages to stick up at the back of his head by the end of the day. No fashion sense, and he is still stuck on Nic Cage. The most striking thing about him are his blue, blue eyes. 

Okay, so maybe he's become rather good-looking, past the awkward stage now, though when he smiles sometimes you still can see the goofy thirteen-year-old he was when you first met. 

It would not be so difficult to deal with his occasional romantic advances to you if you were not so worried about the horrorterrors whispering in your mind. But the distraction of John makes it difficult at times to concentrate on keeping them at bay, to concentrate on your schoolwork and your independent studies. You have to keep your focus. You can't risk distraction.

> TT: No, actually, I do not intend to ever date.
> 
> TT: There is simply no point, as there is no one I am attracted to in the least. 
> 
> EB: bluh, rose! how do you know you're not attracted to anyone if you don't date?
> 
> EB: dating is how you find out!
> 
> TT: It is a waste of valuable time, John. 
> 
> TT: I do not wish to speak of this any more. 
> 
> \--TentacleTherapist [TT] has stopped pestering EctoBiologist [EB]!--

 

You sigh and put your head into your hands. John is very sweet, but sometimes you do wonder about his naivete. How can someone who has seen as much as he has, lost as much as he has, still be so...hopeful? 

You can't let yourself do that. You just can't. 

You have to find a way to heal yourself, to build a fortress in your brain that the horrorterrors can't breach. Which is why you are going to study, you are going to get into University, you are going to investigate...you are going to find the ways to get the darkness out of your head. 

(But perhaps they will overcome you and you will hurt your friends without meaning to before you can do that, and that thought _terrifies_ you.)

==>Rose: Dream

The nightmares begin a paltry few days after school begins. Sometimes, they're about the Game. But most of the time, they're not. 

_In your dreams you haunt the school, the dark hallways, the empty classrooms, the boiler room. In your dreams, your friends die in your grasp, with a turn of your mind, with your fingernails grown to razor claws. You know every person you savage in your dreams, usually John, Jade, or Dave, but sometimes one of the others, one of the few acquaintances you've managed to make since school started. It doesn't matter. You twist their faces off. You snap their limbs like twigs. You scoop them out as they scream and you can taste their blood on your tongue. They always know who has killed them, they always look at you with pain in their eyes, recognize you, mouth the single word WHY with voices gone to a gurgling rasp--_

\--and you wake up, bathed in sweat, your palms pressed to your chest. Your breath comes in short, pained gasps and you can almost _see_ your skin grimdark gray again, that the eldritch power is coming off you in pale waves. 

At first, you chalked the dreams up to Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, the stress of a new school, a new living situation. You weren't worried. But as they grow worse and more often, they are the dreams about you going grimdark and hurting your friends. 

After a nightmare, more often than not, you vomit when you wake, hurrying into the bathroom quickly and quietly, collapsing on the cold tile floor when you are done. You are always sure to get off the floor when people start moving around in the morning. You say nothing, of course. You do not want to worry your friends, and they could not help, in any case, not with this. 

And you always stiffen when John hugs you good morning, as he always does. “Good morning John,” you say, carefully. You are relieved when you are understandable. 

==>Rose: become frustrated with John

To your dismay, John is not giving up on you, but at least he never presses the issue in person. Perhaps he's just shy that way. 

But he only brings up the issue on Pesterchum. 

> EB: you know rose, you should really give me a chance! :B
> 
> EB: you never know, i might be a good boyfriend for you! 
> 
> EB: i'd always open the door for you. 
> 
> EB: i'd always pay for our dates. 
> 
> EB: and i'd protect you with my copious amounts of mangrit! 
> 
> TT: John, you are a dear. 
> 
> TT: But please, stop spouting nonsense. 
> 
> \--TentacleTherapist [TT] has stopped pestering EctoBiologist [EB]!--

 

Dating isn't something that John bothers you about often, but he toys with the idea in a way that suggests that despite his humorous demeanor, he is completely serious about wanting you. When the four of you go out (which is the only way you leave the house, really), he's the one sharing the armrest with you in the dark of the movie theater, he's the one sitting next to you at the dinner table, and he's the one who offers you his arm as you cross the parking lot. It's comforting, in a way. Comforting and flattering. It isn't that you don't appreciate the gestures, and it isn't that you don't love him. Of _course_ you do. 

But you can't let him close enough for you to possibly _hurt_ him. 

Despite this, you end up spending an awful lot of time with him, especially when Dave and Jade are out for the evening by themselves, doing whatever not-really-dating-thing they've decided to do 'ironically' that night. 

“John, this movie is really terrible.” 

“Aww, I thought you'd like it! You know, because of the sorcerers and everything...” 

“John, face it. You like it because Nic Cage is in it.” 

“Well, that's a really good reason!” 

“Not for most normal people.”

“Hey! I'm normal! In a wind-god sort of way.” He chuckled. 

You try not to flinch as you always do whenever he mentions or uses his God Tier powers, and your guts twist. You always try to stay well away from the subject. You wrap your arms around yourself and shudder. 

“Hey...hey. What's going on, Rose?” He places a careful hand on your shoulder. “There's something wrong, I can tell by the way you're looking off and down. And there's...there's this little line between your eyebrows?” He gestures to his own forehead as he peers at you, his face all concern. 

It's true, you are looking at the floor off to the side. You never realized that you do that when you are worried. You don't answer him. Mostly because you can't think of what to say.

You didn't count on John losing patience. “For fuck's _sake_ , Rose. What _is_ it?” He's gotten up and started gesturing in frustration. “You think you're hiding things from us but we _all_ know something's wrong!” 

Unconsciously, you clasp your hands at your throat, looking at him speechlessly. The silence spreads like dye in a pool of water, soon coloring the air around you a deep, unhappy color of blue. 

Finally, you break the silence. “What do you think you know, John?” You keep your voice carefully neutral. 

“Well, for one thing, you puke like, almost every morning! If I didn't know for a fact that you haven't even kissed anyone outside of the Game, I'd think you were knocked up.” 

You had thought that the vomiting was the thing that you'd hid the best out of all of the things you've hidden. “What makes you think I haven't?” you say, trying to inject humor into the conversation. 

John isn't diverted, and he rolls his eyes at you. “My room is next to yours. I hear _everything_ , Rose. I know that you're having nightmares, you think I'm _not_? You always seem afraid. But the game is over, and you have nothing to be afraid of!”

You look at him incredulously. “You really believe that, don't you? That now that we've won, you believe it's just going to be _hunky-dory_ for the rest of our lives.” You can't keep the sarcasm out of your voice, and the hurt look in John's eyes makes you feel like absolute shit. 

He slaps his hand on his forehead. “Ugh, of _course_ , what am I _thinking_? That just because it's over means that we won't have any problems with anything, ever again? God, give me some fucking _credit_ for once! I'm not an idiot.” John folds his arms over his chest. 

You are a little surprised and impressed that he is so good at bitter sarcasm. “John,” you say, “I do not wish to hurt your feelings, either by mistake or intent. Your concern for me is admirable, nevertheless, I would ask you not to talk out of your ass.” 

“You know, for someone so smart, you're really _stupid_ ,” John says angrily, and walks up to his room. Distantly, you hear the door slam. 

_It's for the best_ , you think. 

 

==>Rose: avoid John

> EB: sorry about that rose
> 
> EB: but sometimes it's just frustrating
> 
> EB: it's frustrating and no one understands. 
> 
> EB: you're not the only one who's afraid. 
> 
> \--TentacleTherapist [TT] is an idle chum!--

 

You do not speak to John for a couple of weeks after that. Well, you _speak_ , but not in-depth. Not anything more than soft pleasantries on your side, non-invasive expressions of concern on his. He is wary of making you angry, wary of hurting you, and so he finally gives you your space. You are relieved, but...

You _miss him._

You did not wish to become so close, though you suppose that was inevitable, considering all you had been through. And now you miss him. You had never realized how comforting it was to have him near you. He drove the darkness away from you. 

But it was better this way. Really. It was. 

 

==>Rose: Keep telling yourself that

You keep telling yourself that.

Once again, you wake at 4:13 in the morning, breathing hard, tears on your cheeks and your hands splayed out over your abdomen as if to keep your insides from spilling out over the coverlet. You sit still for a moment, waiting to see if you need to vomit, and then you hurry to the bathroom, spilling what little is left in your stomach into the toilet, feeling dizzy as you finish, and you shiver on the cold tile floor. 

You wish, sometimes, that you would just die. 

A soft knock came at the door. “Rose? Are you okay?” 

John. Of course it was John, the person you most wanted—and _didn't_ want—to see right now. “Never better,” you reply, through chattering teeth.

He snorts a little, unhappily. “May I come in?” 

You fight with yourself for a little while before you answer. “Yes.” You were physically and emotionally weak enough to want to see him, and have his presence comfort you. You hope nothing horrible happens. In the aftermath of a dream, bad things seem all too certain to happen.

He comes in, wearing his flannel peejays, and he has a blanket with him, which he wraps around you, along with his arms. “Come on, Rose. You shouldn't be on the floor, you'll catch cold.” His brow furrows with worry when he holds you, but he says nothing and he brings you into his room. His room is warm— _how is it always warm in there?_ —and he moves you gently to get into the bed. 

You are still trembling when he crawls in beside you and puts his arms around you. “Sleep, Rose. You need rest.” 

“John, we shouldn't--” 

“It's just _sleep_. Come on.” He pushes pale hair out of your face, and kisses your forehead. 

You feel your heart lighten, and your eyelids droop. “You don't have to do this,” you murmur. 

He pats your cheek. “Hush. Sleep.” 

You feel...safe. You let your eyelids close, and you sink into sleep quietly. 

You wake in mid-morning, John's messy forehead the first thing to meet your gaze. His eyes are closed, his mouth slightly open, drooling a little. It's the sweetest thing you've ever seen, and it sort of makes you want to kiss him. Or cry. 

But you don't do either. 

You are trapped in his bed between him and the wall. You should leave. All _your_ walls are down. Anything could come out, and you are worried, so very worried. Carefully, you slip out of the bedsheets, intending to crawl out over the bed and quietly out of the door...

“'Morning, Rose. Sleep okay?” 

_Drat._ “Oh. Yes, actually, I did.” You look over at him shyly, watching him blink open his blue, blue, blue eyes. It should be illegal to have eyes that blue and beautiful. 

He reaches up to cup his hand over your cheek, and he rubs his thumb against your skin. “Warm. You were so _cold_ last night!” 

You swallow hard and crawl quickly out of bed. “I have to go,” you say hurriedly, and as you hurry out of the room, you can hear John sigh quietly behind you. 

You hurry into your room and peer at yourself in the mirror. Your pupils are huge and it makes you think your eyes are darker than they should be—is your skin grey? No, no, you're just pale, your hands feel warm. You let your breath out. Oh, thank god you can't see your breath. You brace your hands against the dresser and sigh shakily. 

You can't do that again. You can't let him get that close, even if it does bring you peace. 

You look at yourself again. 

_Who am I kidding?_

> TT: Thank you, John. 
> 
> TT: I am sorry for leaving so suddenly. 
> 
> TT: But we should not do that again. 
> 
> EB: aw, why not? You're sorta cuddly! :B
> 
> TT: But John, you know what I am capable of. 
> 
> TT: What I have been capable of. 
> 
> TT: And I would die if I hurt you. 
> 
> \--turntechTherapist [TT] has stopped pestering ectoBiologist [EB]!--

 

You avoid John for the rest of the weekend. You go out on Saturday night by yourself and drive for hours. Maybe you'll tire yourself out and sleep through the night without nightmares. Without puking in the morning. Without the need for comfort. 

You return at two in the morning, quietly moving through the darkened house, and sink into bed gratefully. You feel _good_ , oddly enough, when you slip in between the clean sheets in your oversized t-shirt, better than you have for a long time. Sleep comes easily tonight, your body heavy and aching with exhaustion. 

But at precisely 4:13 in the morning, you bolt awake with a scream on your lips—the most horrifying nightmare yet—and you are crying. You don't make it to the bathroom, and you end up trembling in a puddle of your own sick on the floor in the hall. 

John is there first, Dave and Jade close behind, and they're all around you, helping you up, Dave sweeping you up to carry you to the car. You are so cold and you curl into him, clinging to him desperately, even though you are scared to be too close. 

“No,” you cry. “No, I will hurt you, not too close, please no...” But your voice is coming out strange and _wrong_. Somehow you know that you meant to say something else but what comes out is in no ways recognizable as English. 

Voices are bubbling around you, their voices sparking in your head like soda bubbles, fizzing in your ears but you can't understand them at all. “No! Please Dave, get away from me, get away, I'll hurt you please...” You let go of him, try to push him away but you're so weak, it's like pushing against a brick wall. 

You are in the back seat, somehow you know this, even if you are speaking in eldritch tongues. John looks over at you, strokes your hair back from your forehead, which you can feel is damp, slicked with sweat. “John, JohnwhatareyoudoingI'llkillyoupleaseplease _please_...”

He shakes his head and murmurs something you don't understand and you _howl,_ arching impossibly and throwing your head back and the cold fills you up and you can no longer breathe, your consciousness reduced to small flashes: 

> _Dave's anxious face as he speeds along to the hospital_
> 
> -
> 
> _Jade looking through her fingers to bend space_
> 
> -
> 
> _John coming too near your mouth_
> 
> -

Someone holds ice to your lips gently. Despite your cold, you are so thirsty, and you open your mouth. Oddly, the ice feels warm, it slick-trickles between your lips, into your throat. Your body feels heavy and stupid and god you are so cold, so cold. 

You black out, float between worlds. You can't see Earth (Skaia?) now, you can't see Derse, wait, where was this? You are frozen, so cold, and your mind doesn't work right at all. 

“ _...don't know,” someone was saying. “We just don't know...”_

You understood that. You lick your lips and swallow. You want to let them know. You want to know if you hurt anyone while you were grimdark. You don't want to go again. You swallow again. “Donnn't.” You recognize your voice again. Good. 

“Rose?!” John. Oh thank goodness, you didn't hurt him. 

“John. Don't...lemme go...darkagain.” Oh god, talking. Too much talking. You pass out, but before you do, you can feel John kiss your brow. 

“Never.” 

***

Warm. The next time you wake, you are warm, and heavy, and there is a needle in your arm. You are breathing lightly through your mouth. There's a soft, gentle beeping noise that you assume is a heart monitor. You open your eyes and blink up at an institutional white ceiling. “John?” 

You hear shuffling footsteps as he hurries to lean over you. “Hey, you're awake.” 

“Always a master of the obvious,” you whisper. “What...what color is my skin?” 

“Your skin is normal,” he says, putting his hand on your cheek. “You're not grimdark, Rose. They think...they think you had some kind of weird brain infection.” 

You blink up at him. “Oh,” you say softly. You shift your shoulders a little. You're under a stiff warming blanket. Your mind feels clearer than it has in weeks, though you are still exhausted.h

“I should go get the doctor...tell them you're awake...” He makes as if to leave the room.

Your eyes widen, and you clutch his wrist. “No...” You tug weakly. “Stay close. Don't. Don't leave.” 

He comes back to sit down, and moves to hold your hand more properly. Something in your chest loosens and you sigh. He strokes your hair again and smiles his crooked, awkward smile. “Go to sleep, Rose. You're safe now.” 

==>Rose: get better

> TG: fuck that was scary
> 
> TG: she really thought she was grimdark again
> 
> TG: holy shit egbert
> 
> TG: no wonder she was acting so weird
> 
> EB: well she'll be home soon! 
> 
> EB: and things can get back to normal! 
> 
> EB: going to bring her home now, thanks for letting me do this.
> 
> \--ectoBiologist [EB] has stopped pestering turntechGodhead [TG]!--

 

 

You are perched on the edge of your hospital bed in your long black dress and pink sneakers. Your dress is too big for you now. Your wrists have always been slender, but now they look like sticks. You tried to do your hair but your arms are still weak, and you are still so very tired. So after a quick brushing, you'd slid your headband in your hair to keep it out of your face. 

There's a soft knock and you look to see John standing bashfully in the doorway, smiling at you softly. 

“Thank you for not just entering my boudoir unannounced. There is no privacy in hospitals.” You give a tremulous smile back. He looks at you with a tenderness that hurts so badly, so badly. You want so much and hurt so much right now, even though you can feel you're stronger. But mostly you want to get away from these white walls, this room, and the memory of fever, like tentacles, wrapping around your brain. 

He comes over to you, and helps you with your coat. “Ready to go home, m'lady? Your chariot awaits.” He slings the bag with your few things in it over his shoulder and the nurse helps you into the wheelchair. John says, “I'll push,” and somehow, the fact that he's behind you makes you feel protected. He puts you in the car and buckles your seat belt. 

He's a good driver, and you lean your head against the window as he drives. It's a beautiful early fall day, and the leaves are turning colors. It makes you smile, though you're not looking forward to the long, exhausting winter. 

He pauses at the traffic light. “C'mon, let's drive. You haven't been outside in so long, you're going to miss peak foliage season!” 

You smile. This is probably the worst decision ever. You're weak and all you want is to sleep, but it's a beautiful day and you have seen precious little beauty for quite some time. “All right. Thank you, John.” 

It was a good decision, as it turns out. The day is warm and sunny, and the leaves are beautiful. You feel drowsy in the bright light and glad to be out of the hospital. You doze in the warm front seat of the car, though John wakes you for particularly nice views of the mountains and leaves. He takes you to a small diner and buys you lunch, after which you feel considerably less fuzzy after over a week of hospital food. You still need John's help back to the car, though. He pulls a blanket out of the back seat of the car as an afterthought and he tucks it around you gently. After another hour of driving, he parks the car on a scenic overlook and you look out at the panorama of colors through half-lidded eyes with a small smile on your face. 

It's been the most peaceful day you've spent in a while. “Thank you, John,” you say for the second time that day. Your voice is soft and weak, but you feel happy. 

“You're welcome. It was nice...not having you run away from me. Just...spending time with you. Like...when we were kids. Even though that was just online.” 

_Before things got all too serious._

“Yes. It was a very nice day, John.” It was more than nice. It felt like a warm hug, even though he'd only touched her to help her into the car, back and forth from the diner. It felt like she was being hugged by John Egbert _all day long_ and she...she wanted it to continue. 

“I've missed you. I wish I'd known you were getting sick. I should have known, should have seen.” 

You shake your head. “I didn't even realize it...I thought I was going grimdark again.” You swallow. “I was so scared, John. I didn't want to hurt anyone and I thought...if I could just learn enough, be aware enough to heal myself...” You close your eyes wearily and lean your head back against the headrest. 

John puts his arms around you and cuddles you. He strokes your hair. “I'm sorry you were scared. But it's okay now! You'll go home and rest and in a few days, you'll be right as rain.”

You aren't quite sure you believe that, but for once you don't argue with him. Maybe he's right. It feels so good to be close to him that you might believe it too. 

 

==>Rose: Continue recovering

You spend a good week at home, sleeping mostly. John gives you space, though he's always around. When you most want to see him, he's always there without you having to say a word. 

Maybe that's because you _always_ want to see him these days. You kind of feel lost without him around. You don't speak much, mostly because for the first time in your life, you can't think of anything to say. John, on the other hand, talks constantly, mostly about school, bringing you the assignments you've missed, helping you get back up to speed. He talks about the upcoming winter plans, about how he'd like to get back into skiing again, about buying a piano for the living room. You think that's a nice idea. You chit chat about your musical talents and make tentative plans to find music to play together. 

But one thing you don't talk about is dating. In fact, John steers quite clear of the topic. 

In a way, you're relieved. The last thing you need to worry about is your love life. But in a way, you miss the idea of being _desired_ simply because you are Rose Lalonde. 

==>Rose: come back to life

It's been about a month and you're finally staying awake for the entire day and sleeping well at night. You feel much better and you aren't afraid anymore. You're back up to speed at school, as well. It feels good to be back, to have all of your friends, both at school and at home, and not be worried (or have nightmares) about killing them while in the grimdark throes. 

The four of you are going to a party where there will be karaoke. From what you understand, most people need to be well-inebriated before attempting karaoke. You do not imbibe, therefore, you probably will not be singing tonight. 

When you get there, Jade and Dave waste no time before commandeering a bottle of wildberry schnapps between the two of them. 

Before you know it, they're singing “I got You, Babe”. They are ridiculously cute. 

You're beginning to wonder if this was such a good idea. Especially when John dances with another girl. 

It kind of breaks your heart, even though you know the other girl, and you like her well enough. And you're not angry with John, he usually dances with a few girls during parties. That isn't the trouble here 

But you realize, just then, that you _want_ to be the girl in his arms. You _want_ John's hugs and kisses. You just want _John,_ you want to feel warm and safe as you lean your head on his shoulder. You want to wake up to him in his ridiculous Ghostbuster pajamas. 

You have to _do_ something. You have to do something _right now._ Something romantic. Something completely and utterly obvious. 

Something _stupid._

You look at the karaoke machine. 

_Welp,_ you think. _I am doing this. I am making this happen._

==>Rose: Make the Big Confession!

The host of the party announces you as the first singer. There are butterflies in your stomach and your hands are cold, as they get when you are nervous. But you manage to smile. 

“And here's our fist singer, Rose Lalonde! Give it up for her now...” You smile awkwardly as the crowd laughs and claps for you. You curtsy. 

You wait till he's watching, blinking at you in a bewildered fashion. His eyes are so very blue. And then you nod and the machine starts up a song from far before you were born. Your mother liked this particular song. [And it just fits. ](http://youtu.be/6inwzOooXRU)

 

> _Why do birds suddenly appear_
> 
> _Every time you are near?_
> 
> _Just like me, they long to be_
> 
> _Close to you_

 

Your voice isn't perfect, but you carry a tune and you sound pleasant. You hadn't really rehearsed. 

You hope John doesn't mind. (You sort of wish he was playing the piano for this.) 

Yeah, your voice wavers a little, hopefully the next verse will be better... But at least John is looking at you with this big goofy smile on his face. The corners of your mouth upturn a little as well. 

> _Why do stars fall down from the sky_
> 
> _Every time you walk by?_
> 
> _Just like me, they long to be_
> 
> _Close to you_

As you sing, you watch his face, because he's better than the reactions you're getting from the rest of the room (Dave is nodding very slightly at you, Jade has her hands clasped together under her chin and she's beaming in a very drunken sort of way). He's grinning in a way that tells you _yes, yes, he's getting it, he knows what you're trying to say_. You are fantastically relieved and you feel better about singing, your voice, just...well, everything. 

> _On the day that you were born the angels got together_
> 
> _And decided to create a dream come true_
> 
> _So they sprinkled moon dust in your hair_
> 
> _Of golden starlight in your eyes of blue_
> 
> _That is why all the girls in town_
> 
> _Follow you_
> 
> _All around_
> 
> _Just like me, they long to be_
> 
> _Close to you_

You get off the stage when the music has faded away, and as people applaud for you, John comes over and sweeps you off your feet in a hug. You press your face into his shoulder and close your eyes, and he doesn't put you down. “So,” he murmurs into your hair, “dating is a thing, then?” You nod against him, your face burning. “Yes,” you say, your voice muffled in his shirt, “Dating is a thing. It better be, after that performance.”

“You were perfect, like always.” He's still holding you up off the floor. He doesn't seem to be tiring of it. Neither are you. And then he sweeps an arm beneath your legs and says, “Excuse us, we're going to find a cuddle spot.” There's a collective “Awwwwww,” from the other party goers and a “Wooo!” that's unmistakably Jade. 

You feel something bubbling up from your chest and coming out of your mouth. It's a _giggle._ As a rule, you don't really giggle. _Ever._ But then, you've never been John Egbert's girlfriend before. You've never felt this mad, stupid light feeling in your chest before. So maybe it's just something... _new_.  


He finds a place to cuddle and sits down, keeping you in his arms. It's a good cuddle, John's always been a good cuddler. His arms go around you and he tucks your head beneath his chin, one long-fingered hand stroking your hair. You sigh, trembling and happy. 

“Your voice is great! I had no idea you could sing.” 

“I didn't know, either.” You smile. “It was just the right time.” You feel, truthfully, kind of stupid for it now, but you don't really mind so much. It's not bad, being stupid for him. With him. Whichever. 

“I love you, Rose,” he says, then. It's not like you don't know it, but it sets your heart beating unusually fast tonight. 

“I love you too,” and to your surprise, your eyes are aching with tears. Because lots of things aren't really _real_ , school isn't real and most of your friends outside of the Four of you aren't really real, movies and tv shows aren't real, but love is terrifyingly real and you aren't certain you can _do_ love _right_. What experience with love have you had, after all? 

He cups your face in his hands, and he pushes the tears off of your cheeks. “It's all right, okay? There's going to be trouble, there always _will be_ trouble, but we're going to be together. _Always._ ” And then he kisses you, joyously, as if he's somehow sealing the deal. 

Your eyes close immediately, and your body arches instinctively to be closer to him. Your heart is beating so, and there's a quiver in your belly you feel certain you've never felt before. Your hands come up to grasp his wrists lightly. It's a light, soft kiss, but he pulls away slightly afterward and looks at you. “Okay?” His voice is so soft and vulnerable you die a little bit, but it's a good death. 

“Yes.” You barely feel the word slip past your lips, but you do know that you want him kissing you again, right now. You lean forward and catch his mouth again, feel a giggle rise up against your lips, but then things change, his mouth softens and your lips part. He tilts your face up and things change again, it's as if he's just found out that he needs you to survive and he kisses you like he's drinking you right down into his soul. You shudder all over and your tongues tangle together, soft and gentle but with a definite...force behind it. (You'd always thought french-kissing would be kinda gross, but no, _no it's not_.)

That force makes you groan softly into his mouth, it travels down to pool in your abdomen, making your belly tremble. You reach for him, but your hands have minds of their own and you barely even realize what you're doing before you have one hand tangled up in his hair and the other slightly beneath the back of his shirt, touching skin. This, of course, encourages John, who uses one hand to tilt your chin up slightly, and he gently kisses and sucks a certain point on your throat. You gasp softly, and you feel him grin against your skin. He's being so impossibly gentle, but it's the most intense feeling you have _ever_ felt. You bite your lip and squeeze your eyes shut, and then you're shaking. 

He doesn't do anything _serious_. Everything is above the shoulder, well, the _line_ of your shoulder. The most he does is move the strap of your bra to graze his teeth over your skin gently. In between the moments where his lips are on you, you think that perhaps you should return the kisses, do something _for_ him, but then his lips are on your skin again and you forget what you wanted to do. 

He pushes his hand into your hair, his large palm covering the back of your head. Your hands have largely stilled, simply clutched in the fabric of his shirt, because you are getting way, _way_ too turned on by this, by the warmth of his tongue on your skin, by the way he's sucking on your earlobe, by his breath on your neck. You make a tiny, desperate sound. Your heart is pounding like a bird's. 

“Do you want me to stop?” he asks, lips close to your ear. You shudder again, but shake your head 'no'. 

“D-don't you _dare_.” You can't even be embarrassed about the way you stutter, and there's little breath behind your words. You've never been kissed or touched like this, and you almost want to ask him to do more, touch more, make him grind against you or have you grind against him but you don't. You don't want him to stop what he's doing, and oh, he's started again, his mouth working against that one spot between neck and shoulder, and it's driving you _insane_. 

His fingers tighten slightly in your hair, just enough to let you know that he is definitely feeling something too. He speaks against your skin. “I'm trying very hard to be a gentleman.” But he obeys your wish, still kissing, licking, sucking, all above your shoulders, his hands not straying from where they are in your hair and around your shoulder. 

You feel as if you want to tell him to fuck being a gentleman, to just ravish you right here on the bench in the foyer, but you also want him to remain a gentleman, because it means something that he's trying to. You bite your lips and cross your trembling legs. 

Which was the wrong thing to do. You are slick with arousal and the motion of your legs crossing makes certain things slip and slide, which also makes you arch your back and cry out briefly before you clamp your mouth shut. You can feel your cheeks flushing and you are shaking even more than you already were, your nails scratching a little around where they are fisted in John's shirt. 

He stops what he's doing and looks at you, at your flushing, slightly embarrassed expression, at your pupils blown wide and dark with want. “Oh,” he says softly, and wraps one arm around your waist to pull you closer. He kisses your blushing face, tracing your eyebrows with a gentle thumb, devouring your mouth. Again. 

Gently, he pulls you up on his lap, and you notice how flushed he is. “Are you seriously _close_?” he whispers, looking at you in wonder. 

All you can do is nod, your lips slightly parted, wondering if you're normal, because he's barely _done_ anything, but he's done _everything_ , as well. 

He kisses you again, both hands on your waist. It's becoming frustrating. You shift your hips a little, and it sends a jolt through you, making you suck in your breath again. He pulls you close again, whispers in your ear: “If you come, I'll bring you home after.” His voice makes you shudder, and he holds you tighter. He licks your earlobe, pressing small, nibbling kisses down your neck. “Either way, we're...gonna have to go soon?” 

You shiver again and nod. You tilt your head back and shift your hips again experimentally. You squeeze your legs together a bit more, and John feels that shift in your weight, and he huffs out a soft breath. He dips his head down and runs his tongue over your collarbone. It's hard for you to let yourself make noises, but let yourself make a small, breathy sound against his cheek. The music is still pretty loud downstairs and no one will be able to hear you, except John, you hope.

“God, Rose,” John moans, his voice deep and warm. He places a hand at the small of your back and pulls you in closer to himself, even though there's barely room between you now. 

You have never been more incoherent in your life. He touches the sensitive space between your neck and shoulder and you whimper and tilt your head back all the way to the side. “Please, please, please...”

He grunts softly and bites you there, not hard, but you gasp out loud and shift your place on John's lap...

...and you can feel his erection pressing against your hip, and it's that feeling that finally sends you over the edge, and you hold onto John, trembling hard against him. Your mind is blown soft and clean and hot, and you are a quivering damp mess in John's arms. You are making small noises that sound almost distressed, and in a way you are. 

You were brought to orgasm by _kissing_ alone. You know it is possible but you do wonder if you're a little abnormal. John strokes your hair with a trembling hand. “Shooosh,” he says softly. “God, you are so _hot_ , Rose...” 

You swallow and bury your face in his shoulder. You feel overly warm and trembly inside and you are slippery and damp and unsteady. He holds you tight as you begin to calm down, and then he gently moves you off of his lap. He moves you to sit down on the bench you've been kissing on. “I'm going to just....get our coats, and then I'll bring you home.” He kisses your forehead and before he leaves the room, he untucks his t-shirt and pulls it down. 

He comes back several minutes later, a little red-faced, wearing his coat and carrying yours. “You okay?” he asks, holding out your coat for you to slip into.

You smile drowsily. “Yes. I am just...not really feeling like moving.” Nevertheless, you get yourself to your feet, and he gives you a hand up, then tries to steady you as you are a little wobbly on your feet. He helps you with your coat. Still a gentleman. 

He finds the best, most private way to escort you out (down a back staircase and out the side door), and then he picks you up again, princess-style, and carries you to the car. He only puts you down to open the passenger side door for you. 

John starts up the car and lets it warm up for a little while, saying, “Dave's gonna call me when he's ready to come home, because he's already tipsy as hell.” 

“He's keeping an eye on Jade, isn't he?” 

“Of course! You know how much he loves her!” 

You look over at him. “Does he?” Your voice sounds wondering, as if you can't quite believe that he could honestly ever be in love. 

“Oh duh, Rose! I thought you were smart!” 

You roll your eyes at him. “John, you are an idiot,” you murmur tenderly. 

“Oh, I'll bet you say that to _all_ the boys,” he says, carefully backing out of the driveway. 

You shake your head and lean it on his shoulder as you drive home. 

“So, um...are you, you know, okay?' For the first time all evening, he sounds uncertain. You look up at him and notice that he's biting his lip. “I mean...um. I didn't really intend for things to get that, you know, intense.” 

You nod. “I'm okay. You just so happen so have a very talented mouth, John.” She smiled primly.

“Oh! Um. Wow okay.” He's blushing now. “Did you make a mess? I mean. Oh god, are you all...” John closes his mouth. “Ugh, I'm so dorky.” 

“I'm fine, John, though yes, I would like to change my underthings. It isn't entirely unpleasant.” You pat his arm. “Stop worrying. I'm _happy._ ” 

“...Oh.” It doesn't take you long to get home. The house is nice and warm and so quiet, and John locks the door behind the two of you. He hangs up your coat for you. 

You feel a little strange, alone in the house with him. “I—I'm going to get changed, okay? I'm kind of tired, but I'd still like to sit with you...” 

He grins. “Want hot chocolate?” 

You grin back, and you can tell that you probably look dorky just because of the way it feels on your face. “Yeah, I would.” 

You get upstairs and you change out of your skirt and blouse and discard your underwear in the hamper. You change into your pink and grey flannel pajamas, and brush through your hair. You stick your feet in large, fuzzy slippers and go downstairs. 

You've never not walked around in your pajamas before, and you don't see why it should be any different now. He's stirring cocoa and milk in a saucepan when you come down to the kitchen and he looks so pleased to see you that you freeze for a moment, wondering if this is really and truly your life. 

“I turned on the fireplace in the living room.” It was a gas fireplace, but it still gave off plenty of warmth and atmosphere. “I thought of finding a movie for us to watch but I sort of don't want to be distracted by TV right now.” He blushes a bit. “Why...why don't you go sit and I'll bring in the hot chocolate?” 

“Okay.” You're kind of surprised at how quiet you are. Not one snarky remark about the idea of watching movies at this precise moment, not even a tiny remark at his blush. You're surprised but not unhappy about it, because you feel kind of quiet inside, the way you imagine _other_ people, like the Dalai Lama, for instance, must feel. 

John comes over with a mug of hot chocolate for you and sits next to you. You cradle the mug in your hands and lean over against him, and he puts his arm around you snugly. You feel so relaxed and warm. 

“Do you...do you want to sleep together tonight? Not...I mean...you know, _just_ sleep.” He blushes again. It's adorable. “I just...liked it, that one time...” He stammered around till he finally admitted, “It's _hard_ , Rose. I mean. Nights are...hard.” 

It's really the only time he's come out and said that it was difficult since the game. “Yes. They are.” You haven't stopped having nightmares, really, though now you don't throw up after and all you are is relieved when you wake up. “And...yes, I would.” 

He looks so pleased, and your heart just breaks with pleasure. You don't talk much after that, and he leans his cheek on your head. Eventually, he gets a text from Dave to pick him and Jade up, and he looks at you and asks, “Whyd'nt you go get into my bed and wait for me? I won't be long, and I know you're tired.” He cups his hand over your cheek and you lean into it. 

“Or I could get into my bed and wait for you. If you would like to be buried in lavender and white bedclothes, that is...” 

He snorts. “Whichever is more comfortable! I'm secure enough in my masculinity that I can sleep in a girly set of sheets! ...with you, of course.” 

You look up at him. “We will have to talk about your aversion to girly sheets unless they are in the presence of afemale.” 

He pauses and looks at you. “I've just opened myself up to a lifetime of being psychoanalyzed by you, haven't I?” 

“I hope there isn't a problem with that,” you tell him, and there may be a note of uncertainty in your voice. 

He shakes his head and his smile is like the sunrise. You could really get used to seeing that each morning. _“Sweet,”_ he says, and goes to pick up Dave and Jade. 

 

When he gets into bed with you an hour later, shivering from being outside and tired from laughing, you curl up against him with a smile and give him a sleepy kiss. He yawns and holds you close. “G'night, Rose.” 

 

“Sleep well, John.” 

 

 

 


End file.
